


Lifeline

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bukkake, Cock Rings, Comeplay, Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, HP: EWE, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, School Uniforms, Sex Work, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neville discovers a certain blond at a certain agency, revenge is too sweet to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Story

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn't properly British. Special thanks to LadySlytherin for betaing.

Neville knows he’s not eleven anymore. He’s an adult. ...But he doesn’t feel like it.

The mirror has a streak of dust in the corner that earlier cleaning missed, and Neville messily wipes it off with his sleeve. No one ever accused him of being neat. This knocks the mirror slightly askew, and he re-straightens the wooden frame, examining his reflection while he does it.

He’s grown a lot taller since his childhood. He’s grown out of his baby-fat, developed more-defined muscles, his jaw has filled out nicely, and his shoulders have broadened. He’s got his hair combed and just a little bit of stubble going: a pointless effort to look presentable. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time this morning deciding what to wear before coming to the conclusion that he doesn’t own anything particularly nice anyway. And he’s being silly enough without buying something special. So he’s in a striped sweater over his best button-up, long sleeved dress shirt, and black dress trousers. They crease at the knees when he sits anxiously down on the far end of the couch again. He stares at the Mimbulus Mimbletonia on the coffee table so he won’t be staring at the mirror.

When the doorbell rings, Neville makes an audible swallowing noise. He gets up skittishly. He hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. He’s an Auror, for goodness’ sake. He stood up to Death Eaters and chopped the head off Voldemort’s snake. This is just getting silly.

Neville’s apartment isn’t particularly big for a penthouse. It’s nice enough though; it cost him enough money. He cleaned it thoroughly this morning. Even at a quarter of the size, it’s certainly better to live in than Gran’s house was. He walks into the small entryway and leans against the door to peer through the peephole.

Deep breath.

He steels himself and opens the door. 

Icy grey eyes open very wide at him. Already-pale skin blanches further, pretty pink lips part, and half a step is taken back. The agency Neville called prides itself on its discretion, and evidently they _do_ mean that.

Because Draco Malfoy looks very surprised to see Neville Longbottom standing inside the doorway, gesturing for him to come in.

“Hello,” Neville says, in a steady voice he’s mildly proud of.

Draco doesn’t say anything. Neville can’t really blame him. In a way, Neville feels sort of bad for Draco. At least the actual _agents_ that are sent should know who their clients are before arrival. But then Neville reminds himself that he wasn’t going to do that—give Draco pity. Neville’s a big boy now and he’s going to get over it. (Draco is and should, too.)

Draco made his choice when he got the Dark Mark. He went to Azkaban for less time than any other Death Eater, he was paroled incredibly leniently, and he still managed to find a job. It’s not a job Neville would ever do or when he would’ve expected for Draco, but it’s a job nonetheless. With the Dark Mark, that’s a small miracle. Draco _did_ go to Azkaban, and he _did_ live under parole, and he _did_ lose all of his money, status, and even his wand, but it isn’t quite enough for Neville to fully get over it. It isn’t quite enough for Draco’s past sins to be forgotten, and Neville _isn’t_ going to feel guilty about this.

When Draco still doesn’t move, Neville asks, “...Are you going to come in?”

“Longbottom?” Draco blinks, and his eyebrows knit together. Like he doesn’t believe it. Neville’s not sure which part exactly he doesn’t believe, but that doesn’t matter. Perhaps that Neville’s a very successful war-hero now, with a penthouse apartment and extra cash to buy... ‘agents.’

Sex workers, really. And Neville would never, ever be doing this at all if Charlie Weasley hadn’t tipped him off to a certain discreet agency, with a certain snarky blond who owed Neville a bit of restitution. When Charlie first brought it up at Harry’s Christmas party, Neville had just laughed hollowly, not sure how to take any of it. Then he’d gone home and was subsequently plagued with particularly raunchy dreams, involving said snarky blond in all sorts of compromising positions. Neville hadn’t had those sorts of thoughts since Hogwarts and frankly thought he’d gotten over them long ago, when it became (rather quickly) evident that they never, ever stood any chance of coming true.

Now Draco costs about a tenth of Neville’s biweekly salary, and that makes his childhood (wet) ‘dream’ very much achievable. ...Now with the extra bonus that he can work out all the extra years of frustration and do pretty much anything he wants. The agency isn’t very protective with their Death Eaters, and Draco’s file noted very few restrictions. 

He won’t do anything too terrible, of course. Just a little retribution—a little humiliation and a little rough fun. Evidently Draco doesn’t know this though, because he looks very, very wary, and still doesn’t come inside. “...You... ordered me...?”

“Specifically,” Neville adds. “Are you sure you want to do this in the hall?”

Draco suddenly stiffens. He glances awkwardly to either side, arms defensively crossing over his bared chest. The mesh top he’s wearing doesn’t cover very much, and his pink nipples show through the cords. His black leather trousers leave as little to the imagination—an outfit Neville picked from a catalogue. Seeing Draco’s lithe body in them, he doesn’t regret it.

When Draco does step inside, it’s with a very begrudging, awkward grimace, and Neville closes the door behind him. Draco kicks off his worn shoes and stands next to the beige wall, looking, somehow, halfway between over-confident and cagey.

Neville wonders vaguely how Draco normally is at these jobs. Is he a pompous little brat, like he used to be in first year, or a dejected, broken doll like he became in sixth? He’s standing very stiffly, still with his arms over his chest. His platinum blond hair is combed neatly down and shining, and there’s a slight frown on his pink, pout-y lips. After a moment, he tilts his chin up a little. When he doesn’t say anything further, (like degrade Neville’s choice in décor or laugh at his need to buy sex like Neville thought he would) Neville figures he’s waiting for further instructions. Neville has to steel himself again before doing it.

Then he says, impressively calmly, “You don’t have to do this.”

Draco snorts. “I do if I want your money.” His eyes are cautious as he says it, testing the water. Neville doesn’t react.

“What I mean to say is, as I’m sure you can guess, this isn’t going to be a walk in the park for you.”

Draco scoffs again and grunts, “ _My_ appointments never are.” He winces on the word ‘appointments,’ and he glances sideways, looking bitter.

Neville nods. He isn’t really sure how to make this start. He’s, obviously, never done this before. He should’ve asked Charlie more details. (But the thought of Charlie buying Draco first makes Neville’s stomach turn.) Should he offer Draco coffee or something? When he hesitates for too long, Draco, still without looking, grumbles, “Let’s just do this.”

So Neville nods and leads the way to the living room. He can hear Draco’s soft, sock-covered footsteps trailing behind him over the polished hardwood floor. He likes to imagine Draco’s staring around in awe but doesn’t check, just in case. It could just as easily be scowling looks of disapproval. ...A few seconds later, Neville mentally berates himself for that thought. He has a nice apartment. It’s a penthouse. He has a good job. He got put in Gryffindor for a reason, and—especially if he’s going to handle Draco—he needs to act like it.

The living room has a couch against the wall, perpendicular to the large, floor-to-ceiling glass doors, looking out at the patio. The view of the city is rather spectacular at this time of night, with all the lights just starting to come on and the sky beginning to darken. Neville pauses in front of the couch—the one he sat on earlier—and gestures at the clothes draped over the other end. “They didn’t have that in the catalogue,” Neville explains. And then, before Draco can make a joke about where he got it from, “I had it special ordered.” ...Which is equally as creepy, in a way, but oh well. He’s come this far.

He glances sideways to look at Draco, who’s staring blankly at the lump of fabric. Again Neville has a stab of guilt, wondering if he’s going to go too far. Draco doesn’t look horrified, just... neutral. ...Like he’s been down this road before.

That stabs at something in Neville’s chest, and he mumbles, “Can you put that on?” He means it to be more of an order than question, but Draco nods like it is, anyway. Then Neville gets a sudden idea and says, “Hold on—I forgot something. You can change while I go get it, okay?”

Draco grunts, “Sure,” and then looks curiously at Neville.

Neville pauses, then leaves. He takes his time walking down the adjacent hallway and going into his bedroom, trying to resist the urge to run back and watch Draco change. Later. He’ll get to watch the undressing later. It takes a few drawers for Neville to find what he’s looking for. His Gryffindor tie is scrunched up and buried under his socks, but still as vividly red-and-gold as ever. A nice touch, he thinks, to complete the ensemble. This one isn’t an order—it’s his from old times. It was also a part of several daydreams back in school, and it seems only fitting that it should get to be involved now. Neville wonders for a moment if he should go back right away—Draco might need more time. But that’s silly. Neville closes the sock drawer and heads out of his room, back down the hall.

When he reaches the living room, Draco’s standing by the glass doors, now in his new outfit, silhouetted beautifully by the purple sky.

At first, Neville doesn’t want to say anything—he doesn’t want to break the magic. Draco isn’t facing him. Draco has one palm, fingers spread, on the door, and seems to be gazing out at the view. Neville wonders briefly what it all looks like to Draco—the pulsing city. The blinking street lamps, the concrete skyscrapers, the honking cars and the scrolling muggle signs. They’re both purebloods. But Neville imagines Draco’s been more... _sheltered_ than him.

When Draco lifts up a bit on his toes in the provided red stilettos, Neville’s breath hitches. Draco’s smaller shoulders lift as he peers through the glass, his long, pale neck stretching in the fading light. The tailored, white uniform shirt fits him perfectly, hugging his thin body and dipping in with the curve of his spine, accenting his trim waist. The dark, pleated skirt falls flat down his hips, cutting off on his upper thigh, too short and just barely covering his ass. The curve of it is still nicely shown though. Round, and calling out to Neville. As Draco totters on his tiptoes, the skirt sways slightly with the movement, making Neville shiver. His bare thighs are slightly pinkish, and his legs are shaven, and Neville’s eyes linger on the exposed expanse of skin, trailing down to his knees. The grey socks are trimmed at the top in red and gold—Gryffindor colours. Having Draco in a girl’s school uniform is one thing. Having Draco in a _Gryffindor_ girl’s school uniform is enough to make Neville hard already. Neville would’ve given anything to see this back in Hogwarts...

And it isn’t any worse, now. If anything, it’s slightly better, because Draco _deserves it_ , after everything he’s done, and Neville doesn’t have to feel bad. Draco looks absolutely delicious: everything Neville ever hoped for.

As much as he wants to see the front, he doesn’t want to spoil it. And there will be time for that later. Neville never really grew out of his inherent clumsiness, but he is an Auror, and he can stalk quietly when necessary. He employs all of his training as he creeps across the floorboards, ogling Draco’s lithe form the whole way.

Draco must be very distracted by the view, because he doesn’t seem to notice Neville’s approaching reflection in the glass. Neville doesn’t stop walking until his chest hits Draco’s back, and Draco’s breath hitches, his body arching slightly. Neville puts a hand to either side of him, one fist still clutching the tie, trapping him in, and too tightly for Draco to turn. Neville has to bite his lip to not groan at feeling Draco at last, even so lightly, even through all their clothes. He’s still warmed by Draco’s body heat. He tries to resist rubbing his tenting crotch into Draco ass, and instead he puts his head over Draco’s shoulder.

Draco turns his head slightly, and Neville breathes next to his ear, “Pick a safe word.”

Neville eyes Draco’s reflection in the glass, which looks momentarily startled. Draco quickly shakes it off and drawls quietly, “I don’t need one.”

Neville presses further into Draco, so that Draco’s chest has to press into the door in turn. It creaks under the pressure. Draco has another sharp intake of breath, and Neville repeats, a little firmer, “Pick a safe word.”

Eyes scrunched closed, Draco gulps and shakes his head. After a few seconds, he mumbles, “...Want my money.”

Neville bites back the chuckle that causes. Thinking for a moment, (and damn sure he isn’t going to do this without giving Draco a way out, even though he’d likely still stop at a simple ‘no’) he explains, “Pick one. If I do something you don’t like, we’ll switch to something else.” His shoulders are right over Draco’s and, with a bit of shifting, his arms are over Draco’s. He wants to cover Draco’s hands but doesn’t yet—not until Draco has a way out. He doesn’t want to terrify or scare away Draco. (And he has enough daydreamed scenarios to last for a very, very long time.)

Scrunching his nose, Draco hisses, “I’m not here because I _like_ you, Longbottom. It’s a _job_.”

If anything, the snark makes Neville grin. The brattier Draco is, the less Neville is going to feel bad about dressing him up and fucking him senseless. But Neville isn’t eleven anymore, and he doesn’t need to further the argument either. Trying to make peace, he says, “I’m sorry, I meant... comfortable.”

Draco’s reflection rolls its eyes, but he concedes. After a moment: “...Let’s say... Ravenclaw.”

Grinning, Neville starts.

He kisses the shell of Draco’s ear and moves his larger, calloused hands over Draco’s smaller, delicate ones. They feel like they haven’t done hard work in ages, if ever. Neville holds them down perhaps a little too tightly and hisses a sudden spell in Draco’s ear. He can feel his wand react from his trouser pocket, and Draco’s mouth falls open, quickly drawing in air. His eyes flicker, lashes fluttering, and Neville mumbles, “Push your hips back.”

Draco lowers his head with scrunched-closed eyes, and Neville moans as Draco’s ass grinds back into his crotch. This way, he can glance down Draco’s form and see the results of his spell. A handy little spell, courtesy of Seamus. Draco’s skirt is slightly tented with it, and underneath his cock should now be tied in a neat little bow. Neville isn’t cruel. If Draco’s able to get off on this, Neville will let him. ...Just not until Neville has already done so, several times...

Once he’s soaked in the sight enough, Neville slams Draco’s hips back into the door, and the glass trembles with the force. Draco whimpers faintly, like the princess he used to be, and apparently still is. That makes Neville even harder—everything Draco does that reminds him of _Draco_ does. He starts rubbing himself into Draco, scrunching up the skirt, and groans, “How do you like your new uniform?”

Without missing a beat, Draco purrs, “However you want me to like it, master.” His reflection’s eyes are looking off to the side, half-lidded and slightly pained.

“You know my name, Draco,” Neville answers on a whim. ‘Master’ or ‘sir,’ was hot in his daydreams, but that’s something he’d rather build up to. Something for the probably-next-time. Right now, he doesn’t want Draco to be able to mentally escape; doesn’t want Draco to look off and pretend he’s somewhere else, with someone else. Neville wants this _personal_. He kisses the side of Draco’s neck and mutters, “And I want you to be honest...”

Draco scrunches his nose defiantly. Evidently he has a few choice words but doesn’t think he can say them. When Neville thrusts into him particularly hard, he grunts and closes his eyes. Teeth grit, he hisses, “I’m not a girl, Longbottom. And I’m _not_ a Gryffindor.”

“Say my name,” Neville orders, and he starts to unfurl the tie in one hand. He ruts so hard into Draco that Draco has to turn his head, cheek pressed firmly into the glass. He keeps his eyes closed, and Neville kisses right below his eyes.

Another incredibly hard thrust, and Draco practically gasps, _“N-Neville...”_

“You don’t have to be a girl; your ass looks _delicious_ in that skirt,” Neville hisses. “You’re a whiny, pathetic little boy, and tonight you’re _my_ boy; my little Gryffindor pet...”

Draco’s subsequent blush makes Neville moan. Draco looks both embarrassed and furious, but he doesn’t say anything to defend himself. Smart boy. Neville really doesn’t want to gag Draco tonight—not on their first run—but that was another common occurrence in school-time fantasies. When the tie is ready, he grabs both of Draco’s bony wrists, pulling them up and together, and Draco is obediently still as Neville ties them firmly together. He tries not to make it too tight but also not loose enough to escape. When he’s done, Neville hisses, “Struggle,” and Draco momentarily does, to no avail. Good and strong, then. Neville keeps one hand holding both of Draco’s up and uses the other to trail down Draco’s arm.

Neville kisses Draco’s cheek as his hand reaches Draco’s body, running down the side of his lithe torso, flattening over the crisp fabric of the uniform shirt. He slips his hand around Draco’s front, wondering if maybe this might not have been the best idea. Perhaps he should’ve just had Draco naked. His shape is divine. His bare skin probably is too. His breath hitches when Neville’s hands ghost over the faint outlines of his nipples and begin to gently rub at them. Neville can’t resist clumsily undoing the first button at Draco’s pale collarbone, and he slips his hand below the fabric, feeling everything. Then he pulls out to run down Draco’s chest, down to the hem of his skirt.

Draco bites his bottom lip, looking incredibly erotic. He keeps his pretty lashes lowered, and his cheeks stay dusted in pink, and his fragile fingers curl together overhead. Neville nuzzles into the side of his face and wants to do all sorts of nasty things to him—say all sorts of nasty things. He isn’t that good at dirty talk—doesn’t have much practice. He wants to say something humiliating, but ends up just growling, “You’re so pretty...”

Draco’s breath flickers as Neville starts to palm him through the skirt, but he still manages to gasp, “H-handsome.”

Neville grins and digs the heel of his palm into Draco’s evident bulge. He nips at Draco’s cheek and reiterates, _“Pretty.”_ Cupping Draco carefully with his hand, he slams Draco’s hips forward again, and rubs at him from both sides, making Draco whimper, thighs quivering slightly. Draco is handsome. But Neville doesn’t want to tell him that. The whole point is to make Draco burn with embarrassment, which is shaping up to be very easy.

Just like Draco.

Neville chuckles at his own mental joke, even though it’s mean, and it does make him feel sort of... wrong. Both for judging and for using it. A few more thrusts into Draco’s pert ass sufficiently distract him from that again though, and he moves his hand to the side of Draco’s leg, tantalizingly lifting up the fabric.

“I wanted to put you in red panties,” Neville hisses into his ear. “But I wasn’t sure of your _size._ ” He finds and fists Draco’s cock below the skirt as he says it, making Draco moan loudly. The only reason he didn’t really was because he wasn’t sure if he’d have the patience for it. Easy access is better...

Draco must agree. As Neville lightly fingers his cock, Draco starts to lift slightly up, trying to get further into Neville’s grip. His hips are rutting forward, and he’s chewing his bottom lip. Neville can feel the ribbon around Draco’s base and rubs a finger lightly across it. “This is only a precaution,” Neville purrs, biting at Draco’s ear. He’s never purred before, but Draco already pulls it out of him. Draco’s turning his voice huskier, his head foggier, his skin warmer. “I’ll let you come if you’re a good boy...”

Draco winces. Neville figures he probably wants to say, ‘fuck you,’ or something similar, but won’t. Neville teases Draco as much as possible without sending himself over the edge. Draco’s dick fits perfectly in his hand. Average sized, and slightly curved from the feel of it, dotted with veins, and smooth, and very warm, and sort of pulsating. It feels happy and alive, but this would be easier if he had lube. On a whim, Neville pulls his hand away, and Draco instantly makes a whining noise. Pulling back a bit to give Draco room, Neville holds his hand up to Draco’s face. He still holds Draco’s wrists against the glass. He kisses the shell of Draco’s ear and orders, “Lick it.”

Draco opens his mouth wide and sticks out his pink tongue, his reflection looking wonderfully fuck-able. He starts to lap dutifully at Neville’s palm, in large, broad, wet strokes. He kisses and licks and wiggles his tongue between all of Neville’s fingers, and Neville bites the inside of his lip to not moan. This night is _definitely_ worth the money. Draco keeps going, until Neville moves his hand back down to under Draco’s skirt, immediately going back to the target. Draco mewls happily as Neville starts to stroke him again. Originally, this wasn’t in the plan. He was just going to get himself off, and if Draco came too, it’d be a nice bonus.

Now Neville desperately wants to make Draco come and then relentlessly taunt him about coming for _Neville Longbottom._ He wants to dominate, mark, _own_. Draco’s already hard and only gets harder. He even starts to rub his ass back into Neville’s own painfully hard dick, and Neville’s definitely going to have to open his trousers soon. He wanted to draw it out as long as possible, but Draco is making that difficult.... When Draco makes a particularly throaty moan, Neville asks, “Having fun?”

Draco winces and stops rutting, as if suddenly remembering himself. Neville bucks into him to earn a gasp, as if to urge Draco to speak. When Draco still doesn’t, Neville insists, “Come on. I want to hear your sexy voice...”

Draco _does_ have a sexy voice. He drawls with a sensual lilt, and every noise he makes is hotter than the last. Each breathy moan and whimper makes Neville twitch in his pants and desperately want to bury his cock in Draco’s ass. He can feel the luscious curves of Draco’s cheeks around him when he grinds into Draco too hard. He wonders vaguely how many people have fucked Draco’s ass but shuts himself down before he conjures a number. He doesn’t want to think about that. It’s none of his business.

Draco whines quietly, “I’m not having fun,” as per ordered, but he doesn’t really sound like he means it. If anything, it sounds like he’s fighting squeals of pleasure, and Neville rewards him for the words by stroking his cock extra hard. Draco makes an appreciative keening sound, hips rocking eagerly into Neville’s fist.

“That’s too bad,” Neville mumbles, kissing and sucking on and marking the side of Draco’s neck. “If you’re not having fun, I guess you don’t need to come...”

“ _Oh!_ ” Draco arches and shakes his head a little.

“Oh?” Neville repeats, and he slips his hand down to start playing with Draco’s balls, tugging them gently and rolling them in his fingers. Draco’s dick stays stark upright, heavy and dripping precum out the end—Neville feels it mix with the spit.

Shaking his head again, Draco whimpers, “No... want to come...”

“I thought you weren’t having fun...” He squeezes one ball lightly, staring at Draco’s reflection.

Draco’s grey eyes flutter open to meet Neville’s. “I-I’m not... ah...”

“But you want to come?” Neville rubs the base of Draco’s cock, and Draco nods furiously. His hands are trying to squirm in their bonds, but fruitlessly. “...Would you be having more fun, perhaps, if I fucked you?”

Draco whimpers loudly. His cheeks stain a dark red and he closes his eyes again. He doesn’t want to play the game, apparently. Neville won’t have that. He squeezes Draco’s dick, growling, “If you want to come at all tonight, you’re going to tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I want you to let me come,” Draco drawls quietly, quickly. Eyes still closed, cheeks still red, and voice still shaky.

“Not good enough.” Another squeeze, followed by quick pumping, up and down, wet and warm, fingers lingering along the shaft.

“Ah...” Draco licks his lips, as if to prepare. A few more harsh thrusts and quick stroking, and Draco whimpers almost too quietly to hear, “N-Neville, you can... can... _fuck me_...”

“I _can_ fuck you?” Neville repeats. “Of course I can fuck you, I _paid for it_. I asked what you want...”

Draco looks very frustrated but manages to growl angrily and breathlessly, “I _want_ you to fuck me...”

He gasps when Neville bucks hard enough into him to make the doors rattle. “Again,” Neville hisses, pumping Draco furiously.

“A-ah! N-Neville, I... want you to— _oh!_ —f-fuck me—!”

When Neville pulls his hand away, Draco whines very loudly. But that’s it. That’s all Neville can take—he needs to move this along, unless he wants to come inside his trousers, which he really doesn’t. Besides, he set the bedroom up for a reason. The living room’s just foreplay.

Evidently, Draco’s had enough foreplay. Neville pulls back enough to grab him and swiftly flip him around. He maneuvers Draco easily, back to the glass, chest to Neville’s and bound hands falling behind Neville’s head, over each shoulder. Draco’s flushed in embarrassment and half-lidded in pleasure. And Neville takes a moment to fully examine his gorgeous form in the girl’s uniform. Definitely the right choice. Draco looks good enough to eat, and he must know it, because he smiles faintly as Neville eyes him. The skirt is drawn back and the tip of his dick shows outside of the skirt.

Neville taps it experimentally. Then he looks back up and tilts his head, leaning in for the first real kiss. Draco tilts too, meeting him halfway in the perfect angle. His lips are feather-soft when they collide, slightly moist and a little warm. Neville’s too needy by now to be chaste. He shoves his tongue between Draco’s lips, delighted when Draco immediately opens for him. He kisses Draco all over, lips moving, tongue sweeping, running along the roof of Draco’s mouth and his teeth, and fighting his tongue for dominance, which he quickly wins. Draco tastes of diluted coffee and smells weakly of vanilla. He kisses Neville back with surprising force. It turns fervent quickly. Neville presses Draco back into the door, still rutting into him, now clawing at his hips. Why are they still wearing so many clothes anyway? They’ve only just started, and Neville’s ready to finish.

But he doesn’t _want_ to finish. When he pulls back, he goes immediately in for another kiss, then another. He needs to pull away but can’t stop kissing Draco. He’s wanted to for so long, and Draco feels so good, and Draco keeps meeting him halfway, and Draco’s fingers play with the dark hair at the back of his head.

When Neville finally manages to break free, his mind flickers through how he can do this. He needs Draco in his bedroom _now_. But should he make Draco walk or crawl? Deciding neither, he steps forward and ducks down, catching Draco easily below the knees. Draco squeaks instantly but doesn’t protest in time. He’s thrown over Neville’s shoulder like a prize, bent at the waist. His elbows dig into Neville’s back, and his legs kick uselessly over Neville’s front. This slides the skirt down a little, exposing the top of his ass. Glancing over it, Neville decides that if the skirt scrunches up enough, he’ll bite Draco’s ass to make him behave. Instead, he just uses the hand not holding Draco in place to firmly smack Draco’s bottom, which quickly elicits a loud yelp.

Neville imagines Draco is burning in embarrassment as he carries the former Slytherin across his apartment. Draco’s a little heavy but certainly lighter than the usual Death Eaters Neville’s used to carrying after a good stunning spell on the battlefield. One of Draco’s heels falls off halfway down the hall, and Neville has to bend down to pick it up awkwardly. It’s a shame he’s missing out on seeing Draco walk in them, but there’ll be time for that later.

When they reach the bedroom, Neville deposits Draco gingerly down on the bed. It’s already neatly made, (something Neville only bothered with for this occasion) and Draco looks cautiously around. Neville has a generic bedroom, with all the usual things—a bed, a dresser, a closed closet, a window. And, of course, a few plants on a table under the window.

And a muggle camera set up on the dresser.

Draco stiffens as soon as he sees it. So there are some muggle things he’s grown acquainted with, then. In a way, Neville’s sort of flattered that Draco thinks enough of him to assume he can work it. Truth be told, Neville has no idea how it works; even if he did, he wouldn’t use it on Draco. Not like this. But Dean leant it to him for show purposes, and Neville wants to make Draco’s pretty cheeks glow with shame.

Draco looks back around as the bed weighs down with Neville. Draco’s eyebrows are knit together, looking slightly pained. He opens his mouth as if to protest but ultimately doesn’t, just snaps his mouth closed again, pouting and looking furiously adorable.

Draco has to crawl back when Neville moves to the middle of the bed, kneeling and tugging off his sweater. It’s getting too hot for that. Draco stays on his hands and knees in front of Neville, looking sulky and putout, but he still has his legs crossed, like he’s trying to get more friction. Fiddling with his own zipper, Neville orders, “Now come here and put your dirty mouth to use.”

Draco crawls forward. His fingers shake as they lay over Neville’s, still bound at the wrist, and his eyes flicker nervously backwards every so often. Neville distantly wonders what Draco’s been taped doing before, and if he’s threatened with it, or made to watch them. A tiny shred of guilt stirs in Neville’s stomach. He’ll tell Draco it’s off, after. Or stop if Draco says something, really needs it. For now Neville’s too far-gone to coddle the man that made his childhood hell.

Neville moans when Draco gets his trousers open and carefully pulls out his cock. Draco’s eyes widen at it, and Neville resists the urge to smirk. He knows he’s rather well endowed but figured Draco wouldn’t have thought so. Well, Draco’s wrong. Draco stares at Neville’s cock for a minute, and Neville can’t resist—he jerks suddenly, slapping Draco in the face with it. Draco winces like a dog being hit with a newspaper before glaring upwards. Neville smirks back down and grabs a fistful of blond hair, holding Draco in place while he rubs his hard cock against Draco’s cheek.

Neville doesn’t have much experience with sex spells. That, somehow, only made Charlie more insistent on showing him the ropes, and now Neville is determined to keep his trousers on so his wand’s handy, so he can continue to employ the already cast spells. According to Charlie, Neville should now be able to last longer, come more often and of more quantity. If it weren’t for the first spell, Neville probably would’ve come back in the living room, probably a minute or two after seeing Draco in a short skirt.

Now he’s somehow still managing to not explode, despite how wildly _hot_ Draco looks with a cock on his face. Neville’s precum is getting in Draco’s platinum hair, and then he gets an idea and shifts to wipe it across the bridge of Draco’s nose, making Draco wince. “You look so hot,” he can’t help but mumble, and then, “Show your pretty ass to the camera.”

Draco dons an odd mix of looking hurt and scowling, but he still reaches back to flip up his skirt. Neville groans in spite of himself. He momentarily regrets it not being a real camera—he wants that view. As it is, he can still see the top—the curve of Draco’s cheeks, spread slightly as his knees part to gives his cock room. Neville wishes he had a mirror on the back wall to see Draco’s hole. But the sight he does have is still delicious and makes him need _more_. He has to fight the urge to just shove his cock right into Draco’s mouth, and instead, he groans, “Beg me for it.”

Draco tilts his head slightly, drawing his shoulder up. He has one eye closed where the cock is hitting him, and bites his lip, before drawling sensually, “Please fuck me.”

Neville grins and slaps Draco lightly again. “C’mon, you can do better than that. Do you want a nice tip or not?”

Draco’s eyes flare. He looks almost challenging as he tilts his chin up and purrs, “ _Please_ let me suck your cock...” Neville keeps rubbing himself across Draco’s face, wanting more. Draco picks up on this and rolls his eyes. After a minute, he tries again, voice absolutely dripping with eroticism, “ _Neville,_ oh _please_ let me suck your huge cock. It’s so big, and I want it in my mouth so bad...” He opens his mouth wide at the end and runs his tongue up the underside, making Neville shiver in pleasure. Draco kisses it and looks up at Neville with hungry, ready-to-go eyes. When Neville glances at Draco’s bare ass, sticking beautifully up in the air, it’s swaying slightly. Neville can’t wait to plunder it, but Draco’s pretty lips look just as irresistible.

When Neville pulls back, Draco has the nerve to smirk triumphantly. Somehow, he even makes sucking cock a Slytherin victory, but Neville finds himself oddly amused by it rather than annoyed. He knows he has the control, even if Draco’s being a brat about acknowledging it. And he’s certainly going to have fun either way. When Neville holds his cock out to Draco’s lips, Draco kisses the tip chastely. Then he opens his mouth very wide, tongue hanging out. Neville was going to let Draco do it, but can’t help himself. He starts to push himself inside too soon.

As soon as the head of his dick pops inside Draco’s hot mouth, Neville practically loses it. He throws his head back, and his eyes roll back in his skull, and he tries desperately to hold still—not to thrust in too quick and choke Draco. He doesn’t want to damage Draco, after all—he has more plans for that filthy mouth. Draco’s mouth was always such a sharp weapon back in Hogwarts and plugging it up with his cock sparks lightening through Neville’s veins. It’s unbelievably hot, and wet, and tight. He can feel Draco’s spongy tongue along the bottom and the slight scrape of Draco’s teeth at the top. When he finally manages to catch his breath and look back down, Draco’s eyelids are lowered, and his pink lips are stretched wide, and his cheeks are flushed. He looks so fucking hot that Neville could come right here but wills himself not to. Without the spell, he definitely would. He’s only halfway in, but Draco obediently takes more as Neville slowly pushes deeper inside.

Three-quarters down, Draco makes a gagging sound, and Neville, with tremendous effort, stills. He doesn’t pull out. Just waits for Draco to adjust. Draco’s bound hands are curled beneath him in the blankets, and Neville can see his fingers flinching and feel his throat constricting. After a few seconds, Draco seems to be alright again, and he looks up at Neville, eyes both pleading and fiery.

Neville strokes Draco’s cheek with his thumb. With the other hand, he fondly pets Draco’s head, trying to convey both, ‘take your time,’ and ‘don’t you dare pull off.’ When Draco sniffs and doesn’t move, Neville grunts, “Take the rest—I know you can.”

Draco winces but does. He shifts slowly forward, glorious centimeter by glorious centimeter, choking himself more and more on Neville’s cock. Neville can feel the head hit the back of Draco’s hard throat, and Draco tries to adjust his angle, and tries to take more. Neville’s twitching in Draco’s mouth, eager for more. Draco gets almost to the base before struggling to a stop, obviously unable to take even another millimeter. His nose tickles Neville’s dark pubic hair, and his chin is lightly pressed against Neville’s balls. It takes all Neville has not to start furiously pumping in and out, fucking Draco’s throat raw. Instead, he growls, “Suck it.”

Draco hollows out his cheeks, the suction coming immediately. Neville moans loudly and makes a fist in Draco’s soft hair, holding him still. The pressure is absolutely amazing. It claws at Neville’s dick and squeezes out, and Draco doesn’t stop. He takes gulping breaths through his nose and sucks and sucks, and then starts to pull off, tongue lapping at the bottom the whole way, until he gets almost to the head. Neville can’t take it anymore and shoves him back down, and Draco makes a strangled screaming noise, but Neville does it anyway. He can see tears prickling at the corner of Draco’s eyes but can tell from Draco’s expression it’s just from the stretch and the burn. Neville still grumbles, “Sorry,” and lets go again. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to apologize. Whatever. Draco adjusts again and slowly starts to move up and down, glaring a little up at Neville, as if warning him not interfere.

Neville would chuckle at that if he weren’t so busy groaning in pleasure. Every bout of suction makes his head spin, and every downward thrust makes him want to cry out. It’s so hard not to thrust forward; it’s so hard to keep his hips still. Draco’s hot, wet mouth is so inviting, so delicious, so _perfect_ around his cock. Draco looks perfect as he does it, and after a bit, he forgets to glare, and his eyes droop again, and he starts to hum around Neville’s cock, making Neville grunt and lose his mind. Fantasizing about Draco’s filthy mouth wrapped around his dick was one thing, but actually seeing it happen is easily the sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed. Feeling it is even better. He holds Draco’s head lightly, mainly just for somewhere to put his hands, but lets Draco do all the work. It’s unbelievable. How that spell’s holding up, Neville has no idea.

It’s over when Draco suddenly moans around Neville’s cock, eyes fluttering in obvious ecstasy. The thought that Draco might actually be enjoying it is what really pushes Neville over the edge, and he pulls out of Draco’s perfect mouth suddenly, a trail of saliva coming with him. Draco looks hazily startled, and Neville barks, “Pump it out and open your mouth.”

Draco does both things. It’s hard for him to stay up on his knees with his hands up, but he stays at the level of Neville’s cock, and moves his tied hands to grab it. He opens his mouth wide, jaw already stretched, and sticks out his tongue. He hovers only a centimeter or two away as he jerks Neville off with both hands, elbows trying to reach the mattress and ass stuck high in the air. Even with the spell, it only takes a few strokes for Neville to explode, and the other spells really make it an _explosion_.

Draco closes his eyes just in time as Neville’s load of hot cum shoots all over his face, bursting like a fountain, painting everywhere. Draco lets go in surprise, but Neville moves his own hand to grab his cock and keep holding it—it keeps going. It splatters all over Draco’s forehead and hair, drapes across his nose, clings to his cheeks, floods his mouth and drips down his chin. Neville coats Draco’s face, and Draco keeps his mouth open, catching as much as possible. Neville pumps it all out, until Draco’s completely soaked. He looks like someone shoved his face into a bowl of it, and he doesn’t open his eyes for a few seconds. When he does they go very wide—probably because Neville, miraculously, is still hard.

“A good spell,” Neville chuckles, whilst lightly thumbing his still-erect cock. “Gives me a few good rounds.”

Draco can’t say anything back—his mouth’s too full of cum. Draco’s blushes all over. He doesn’t move, though, until Neville says, “Swallow.”

Draco sniffs indignantly. But he closes his mouth and makes a very audible swallowing noise, chin tilting up. Neville hungrily watches Draco’s adam’s apple bob with the movement. Draco smacks his lips after, swiping his tongue around his mouth and lips, and does it again. Then he wipes at his mouth, and his chin, and Neville, raising his eyebrows, says, “You want to lick that up, too?” So Draco scowls and licks off his now cum-covered hands, looking sullenly down the whole time. If Neville wasn’t already hard, he would be again. Draco swallows cum like a kitten with milk. He doesn’t wince, but he does blush. When his hands are clean again, Neville grins. The rest of his face isn’t.

Now that Neville knows how good Draco is with his mouth, he figures he wants to use it later, and he has no interest in cum-guzzling like Draco seems to. So he shifts to pull his wand out of his pocket, and as Draco tilts his head curiously, Neville orders, “Hold your hands out, below your chin.”

Draco does, cupping them together, as though about to scoop water out of a stream.

Neville holds the tip to Draco’s face and mutters a quiet spell. The wand tip glows red and Draco looks wary, yelping when he figures out what’s happening. This is another of Charlie’s spells—and not one Neville thought he would use. But now it seems the obvious solution. The semen begins to siphon off Draco’s face. It sucks into the tip of his wand, and Draco goes cutely cross-eyed watching it. Then Neville points the tip down at Draco’s cupped hands. “Finite Tergeo.” It pours back out of his wand, filling Draco’s hands, and he holds them tightly to not let it slip. (Which is smart, because Neville would totally make him lick it off the blankets.)

Draco doesn’t even need to be told what to do. He lifts his hands to his face and closes his eyes, lapping up the pool of cum. He tilts his hands up and tries to drink as much as he can, then goes back to licking, clearing it all away. Neville watches in complete rapture and lowers a hand to start stroking his cock again. Draco licks up every last drop and then some. When his hands look clean again, he draws his tongue up in a few long, broad, final strokes, slowly putting on a show. He watches Neville through his lashes when he does, and Neville shivers. Draco’s definitely earned a tip. The goal of humiliating Draco is quickly flitting out of Neville’s mind, in favour of simply _fucking_ Draco.

He still breathily mumbles, “You liked that?” Because Draco’s voice is so fucking sexy and Neville needs more of just _Draco_ in general.

Red-cheeked, Draco nods slowly and quietly purrs, “I love your cum, Neville.” He bites his lip again, before adding, “It’s _delicious;_ can I please have some more?” Evidently he wants to earn his tip too. Neville wonders vacantly if that’s even a thing—are you supposed to tip sex workers? He has no idea. Or has Neville exposed his inexperience and given Draco extra incentive? Not that it matters. Draco getting into it is even better than Neville suggesting it.

Neville was going to make Draco ride his cock. When he first planned this night, (and he did a _lot_ of ‘planning’) he’d decided on lying back on the bed, and making Draco do all the work, and making Draco whine about how much he loved it. But now Neville doesn’t see how he’s going to possibly hold back—he wants the control. Wants to fuck Draco hard—let loose. So instead, he barks, “Turn around,” and Draco slowly does. He moves awkwardly with his hands together, but the Gryffindor red and gold looks so good against his pale skin that Neville wouldn’t dream of removing it. Draco stares warily at the camera as he moves in front of it, and Neville still doesn’t tell him the truth.

The skirt is still bunched up, but Neville pushes it further back anyway, scrunching it around Draco’s waist. He wants to see everything, and it’s very worth the effort. Draco spreads his legs a little, so Neville gets a proper look.

Draco has, easily, the best ass Neville’s ever seen. Taut, tight, and perky, pale and slightly tinged pink, with gorgeous, rounded cheeks that just beg to be spanked. The right balance of all Neville’s daydreams. Another fantasy for later, when Neville isn’t quite so hard. Seeing Draco’s ass makes Neville want to do everything in the world to it. Definitely a good choice not to use panties. Neville drops his hands to run down Draco’s sides, fingering his warm skin. It’s silky smooth and glows red when Neville squeezes it. Neville starts playing with both cheeks, kneading them roughly, and Draco makes a mewling sound overhead, wriggling slightly in Neville’s grasp. Below that perfect ass hangs Draco’s still-bound cock, still hard and pointing up, dripping a little at the end. Grinning, Neville muses aloud, “Having a good time?”

Draco moans and shakes his head. Neville heavily suspects it might only be to save face in front of the camera, now that he’s facing it, because Draco’s pressing back into Neville’s hands like he wants it very much. Draco’s thighs are trembling, and his legs look amazing in the Gryffindor socks, feet capped in red heels. Neville has a brief moment of regret where he wishes he’d made Draco strip first. He’ll need to get a pole for the next time. ...There will definitely be a next time...

The thought of not having a next time stirs disappointment in Neville’s stomach, and the time between ‘appointments’ stirs something else entirely. He doesn’t want to think about those things and tries to focus on the now. He grabs a firm hold on each cheek and roughly wrenches them apart.

Draco gasps as the cool air hits him, and Neville just barely stifles a groan. He eyes Draco’s crack hungrily, and Draco’s tiny, furrowed hole is already shuddering slightly, probably in anticipation. Like it knows what Neville’s going to do to it. Neville wants to nip at it, wants to run his tongue along it, wants to bury his face in Draco’s ass. But he’s too hard for all that; he can’t wait for how much he wants to properly worship and lavish the little puckered entrance. Next time. Everything will happen next time.

Instead, he just reaches into his pocket—the wand again. This spell is one he learned early on—the same one every adult wizard learns almost immediately. A quick flick, and Draco gasps again, and his hole twitches furiously as the spell runs through it, stretching slightly and dribbling out a warm, thick liquid. It should prepare Draco completely. Clean him, stretch him, wet him. As soon as Neville re-pockets his wand, he presses a finger to the opened entrance anyway; if he wants other times, he should do this right.

Draco moans languidly as Neville fingers his crack, teasing and touching. Neville circles the tight ring of muscles and presses his fingertip against it, then lightly pistons into it. It’s a few tiny pushes before it pops inside, making Draco arch and whine. Neville grins in satisfaction and presses it in further, just a little bit at a time. It’s marvelously tight inside, and Draco’s walls squeeze deliciously at him, simultaneously trying to push him out and suck him further in. Neville can tell this is going to be a _very_ fun ride.

When Neville gets all the way inside, he starts to vigorously fuck Draco’s ass with his finger. Draco makes raunchy keening noises and rocks back into it, dick swinging between his legs with each movement. As Neville pulls out just enough to add a second finger, he breathes huskily, “You still want to come?”

Draco stiffens, hesitating, and it makes his ass spasm deliciously around Neville’s scissoring fingers. Of course he’d want to, but he won’t say it in front of the camera. Neville uses his free hand to lightly smack Draco’s cheek, making him yelp. A nice, pink handprint appears on Draco’s poor ass, giving Neville the intense urge to spank him senseless. Draco moans, “N-Neville...”

“If you don’t tell me you want it, I won’t let you come,” Neville says faux-sweetly, voice a whole mix of emotions. Mostly lust, which clouds far over the guilt. “I might not even fuck you, and then you won’t get your money, and we all know you don’t want that...” Which is a complete lie. Neville is going to fuck Draco’s brains out, whether Draco plays along or not, and he’ll pay either way, but that doesn’t make taunting Draco any less hot.

Draco whimpers loudly and nods. Neville slaps his ass again, and Draco cries out, mumbling, “I-I want to come...”

“And?” Neville stabs his fingers in and out roughly, careful not to tear Draco, but definitely having a good time.

“I... I want you to... to fuck me...”

“I am fucking you,” Neville answers. He wishes his fingers were longer, or he had something else nice and big to play with while he waits. Draco isn’t putting up nearly as much of a fight as Neville expected, and he wants to milk that for all it’s worth.

“With your cock!” Draco whines, squirming back against Neville’s fingers. “I want you to fuck me with your big cock!”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” As soon as Neville pulls his wet fingers out, he slaps Draco’s ass again, just for good measure, and Draco almost topples forward. Neville just can’t wait any longer. It’s a good thing he wasn’t fisting himself while fingering Draco, or he’d already be finished. Lining his cock up with Draco’s hole is made slightly difficult by the fact that Draco keeps fidgeting, thighs quivering. Neville has to reach a hand under Draco’s stomach to pull him straighter up, and Draco makes an indignant squeak. When Neville’s ready, he has to take a deep breath: he’s really going to do this.

He clears his head: he wants to remember this forever, even if he does plan to repeat the moment again and again. When he takes too long, Draco glances up over his shoulder, lips swollen, cheeks red, and pupils heavily dilated. He looks fucking gorgeous. Neville wants to put a collar with ‘property of Neville Longbottom’ around his pretty neck and handcuff him to the bed.

Deep breath. The first thrust is harder than he means it; the head of his cock pops into Draco’s ass with a slick sound, and the squeeze around it is absolutely mind-blowing. Neville groans loudly, and his hips automatically piston forward again, trying to be just bit by bit, a little more at a time. Draco gasps quietly, and his head drops, shoulders tensing. Neville doesn’t know where to look—at Draco’s trembling, pale shoulders, or his pink, puckered hole, slowly stretching around Neville’s cock. In the end, Draco’s ass wins; it’s too sexy not to watch. Draco’s walls seem to hold him in, burning hot and wondrously tight, devouring Neville’s dick whole. It’s so, so tight. Neville has to stop twice to catch his breath, and both times Draco whines and squirms.

Even though he’s only making noises, not words, Neville mumbles, “Shut up,” mostly because he’s having a power trip. Draco stays quiet for a few seconds, before whimpering again as soon as Neville resumes thrusting. Draco practically wails when Neville finally gets in all the way, balls digging into Draco’s warm ass. Another moment to breathe. He hasn’t even moved yet, and he can already tell this is going to be, easily, the best sex he’s ever had. He’s never, ever felt anything this intense before. Draco’s ass is like a furnace, and the way it twitches around Neville’s cock is complete bliss. And it’s fucking _Draco Malfoy._ Fuck. How’s he going to ever go back to his hand after this?

The sensation’s so overwhelming, Neville doesn’t even remember to move until Draco breathily drawls, “N-Neville...” The way Draco says his name drives Neville crazy.

Rather than actually listen, Neville grunts, “Beg for it,” and shoves Draco forward without actually pulling out first. Draco whimpers pathetically again, legs falling further open. He’d probably be falling down if he weren’t held up by Neville’s cock, impaled in place. Neville grabs his hips firmly just in case, holding the skirt up and squeezing probably a little bit too hard.

“P-please...” Draco doesn’t even get the whole word out before Neville pulls out to the head, only to slam in a second later, hard enough to make Draco cut off and cry out. His elbows crumple and his head hits the blankets, but he scrambles to push himself up again as Neville pulls out, ready to slam in a second time. He does it again, and again, pushing Draco over and fucking him _hard,_ going all the way in on each thrust. A few thrusts in, he must be hitting the right spot, because Draco suddenly arches. He wails in pleasure and moans over and over, and Neville holds that angle. Somehow knowing he’s pleasuring Draco is the best part for Neville, even if he’s paying for it. It makes him hard as stone.

“Beg for it,” Neville repeats hoarsely between thrusts. “Want to hear your sexy voice the whole time...” Neville doesn’t have the willpower to stop long enough to let Draco talk. He can’t control the pace, can’t control the ferocity. His hips move of their own accord, slamming into Draco and filling his ass up, parting his tight muscles and making him scream. Each thrust is more brutal than the last, and then Draco just can’t take it. He falls into the mattress and he stays there, cheek turned to the side, ass up in the air for Neville to fuck. He’s panting so heavily that it looks like he might pass out, fists clenched tightly in the blankets.

“N-Neville!” Draco cries, eyes rolling up in his head and lashes fluttering. He’s being fucked so hard that his dick is swinging wildly between his legs; on a few thrusts Neville can even feel it slap his own balls. The slapping, wet, skin-on-skin sounds are loud and thick in the air, punctuated with both of their panting. Draco’s throaty cries are the sexiest part, broken roughly off with each thrust. “P-pleeease fuck m— _ah!_ —m-me with your— _ah!_ —big c-cock! Fuck me so h-hard! Oh! _Uhn,_ yes!” His voice takes on a high-pitched quality as he breaks momentarily into, “Oh, yes! Yes!” and, “Ah! Ahhhh!”.

It doesn’t matter. Neville wants more specifics. It doesn’t matter. It’s all hot, so hot. He grunts, “Beg, you snake,” and then continues before he can stop himself, rambling, “wanted you for so long, wanna hear you beg, so hot...”

“You’re so hot,” Draco moans. “So big, so hot, so—ah!—so h-handsome...” Neville’s insides are melted rock, stirring molten lava. His heart’s beating wildly in his chest, head fogged to the brim, skin tingling all over, glowing and on fire. His fingers dig into Draco’s delicate hips strong enough to leave bruises, and his eyes rake hungrily over Draco’s collapsed form. The thin waist, the small shoulders, the disheveled, sweat-matted hair, and the bound, fragile wrists. The Gryffindor tie makes it so much more. Draco’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as he pants like a dog, gasping for breath, “W-want more of your—ah—your cum, please f... fuck me, _Neville, please_... come inside me—oh!”

Neville’s getting close. He goes so hard that he shoves Draco down, his own knees buckling, and he collapses atop Draco on the bed, hips never once stopping. He pounds Draco into the mattress and wraps his arms under Draco’s body, holding him in close, and Draco arches into him and moans so, so erotically. Their bodies are flattened together from head to toe, and even through his shirt, Draco’s skin is radiating heat, stuck down with sweat and soft against Neville’s shirt. Why he didn’t properly undress for this, he has no idea. He should’ve stripped Draco down. He wants skin on skin. Next round. If he can take a next round. Even with the spell he knows it’s too much—too perfect.

Draco licks at his lips as he tries to continue, and a bit of saliva escapes the corner of his mouth. Neville leans in to lick it up but doesn’t kiss Draco—the angle’s not right and he wants Draco to keep talking. He slips his hands down Draco’s front, stuck between the mattress and Draco’s gorgeous body, and he finds Draco’s cock and wraps his hands around it. Draco whines loudly, and gasps, “Oh, yes! Yesss!!”

Neville bites at his ear roughly. Draco yelps, and breathes, “Uhn, yes, f-fuck me— _oh!_ —paint me in your cum, want you s-so bad!” Draco’s not going to be able to sit down for a while, Neville can tell; he’s abusing the fuck out of Draco’s ass and he doesn’t care, pounding harder and harder. He fists Draco against the blankets, even though Draco’s cock is tied, and it’s so stiff Neville thinks he might explode and rip the cockring. Draco writhes beneath him as he cries, “Oh! So good! Uhn, yes—fuck me, Neville, fuck me with your big Gryffindor cock— _AHHH_!”

When Neville thumbs off the cockring, Draco bursts immediately, shrieking and arching, shooting all over Neville’s hand and the blankets. Draco comes so much and so hard that Neville would think he was the one with the spell, and his ass spasms wildly around Neville’s cock, and it’s utter ecstasy. Stars scatter Neville’s vision as his own orgasm rips through his body, intense and wild and all-consuming. He bites down hard into Draco’s shirt-covered shoulder, arms wrapping tight around Draco’s body, and he comes everywhere. He coats Draco’s walls and keeps coming, coming, until he can feel it leaking out around his cock, and he rides it out, thrusting in and out the whole time. On the last drops, he grinds Draco hard into the mattress, and Draco moans wantonly and takes it.

When it all ends, it’s all Neville can do to stay conscious; it rolls off him in waves and each of his limbs gains ten pounds. He slumps heavily atop Draco, struggling desperately for air.

When Draco grunts, Neville rolls off, dick slipping out of Draco’s ass with a wet ‘pop.’ Draco whimpers lightly but lies still just as limply.

Coming back down to reality takes a few minutes. Neville stares up at his ceiling, trousers open, mouth wide. Draco’s pressed up against his side, face-down, skirt still flipped up. Neville rolls his head to look down—Draco’s ass is bright pink and profusely leaking cum. Groaning, Neville looks away again. That’s actually too hot to look at right now. It’ll make him hard again.

And he needs a minute. Oh, fuck. He needs longer. Best orgasm of his life. Best sex of his life. Best... just everything.

He’s not even hard anymore. The spell was supposed to last for several rounds, but apparently two is Neville’s limit when Draco’s helping him along. He glances at Draco’s face, buried in the duvet.

Neville lightly drops his arm across Draco’s back, and Draco grunts, shifting to look over, cheek lying flat again. He looks just as wrecked as Neville, and debauched, and ridiculously sexy. He looks like he just got his brains fucked out of his skull. Neville stares into his grey eyes.

Draco stares back, and it takes him several minutes to manage, looking slightly sullen but mostly just ravished, “P... please don’t... show anyone that tape.”

His cheeks are still red, but Neville doesn’t know if that’s from shame or heat or sex. It doesn’t matter. Neville’s too spent to go again, and the humiliation’s over. The more he goes, the more he doesn’t want revenge or sex or whatever, he just wants _Draco_. In one way or another, he always has. He mumbles more guilty-sounding than he means to, “It’s not on.”

Draco blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

Neville shrugs. “I dunno how to work it; I just borrowed it and put it there for show. It wasn’t filming.”

Draco blinks again, before scowling suddenly, and jerking his arms, as if he wanted to punch Neville but forgot he was tied up. Chuckling softly at this, Neville rolls on his side and reaches for Draco’s wrists. Draco pouts while Neville tugs the Gryffindor tie away, and Neville adds while smiling too much, “Sorry.”

Draco glares but doesn’t move again. Neville sort of (really badly) wants to hold him, but doesn’t really know what the after-sex protocol is. Would that be okay? He wants it to be okay. He doesn’t want to care. The whole money thing... puts a knot in his chest. But he doesn’t want to worry about that, not now. It couldn’t have happened otherwise, he knows, and that makes it worth it.

After a minute, because Neville’s clumsy like that, he mumbles, “Is cuddling extra?”

Draco quirks a small smirk, scowl evaporating. “You want to cuddle?” Neville ignores the mocking tone, because that’s just Draco. Draco looks aside, as if thinking, and turns onto his side, shuffling that extra centimeter closer. Their exposed cocks rubs together, and Neville gasps lightly, and Draco’s eyes close for a brief moment. Neville reaches an arm around Draco, holding him in. Draco’s face burrows into his shoulder, and he drawls quietly, “Are you buying an overnight visit?”

Neville nods. He can afford that. He can’t afford as much as he wants, but maybe... maybe he can work out a discount. A bulk deal.

Or maybe he can steal Draco away altogether. Surviving with the Dark Mark would be easier with a place, which Neville has. He doesn’t know what Draco wants. But he knows what he wants, and he knows what he has, and he knows what he can offer, even if it isn’t enough.

He can try, and see what happens.

Kissing the top of Draco’s platinum hair, he muses, “How much for the week?”

Draco pulls back to eye him, looking disbelieving but not disagreeable.

Embarrassed at the suggestion, Neville blushes faintly and adds, “Er, if you want, of course.” Draco _stares._ He’s been hit with one train after another today. “It’s just... I meant what I said about wanting you for a long time. Er, although... I should probably take you to dinner first...” Neville scratches the back of his head sheepishly—this is all the wrong order.

Draco’s final expression is incredulous, and he mutters, “You... you want to take me to dinner?”

Blushing and shrugging, Neville mumbles, “If you want.” ...He’s supposed to be stronger than this, but... it’s hard. And now he’s come this far, and his head’s still a mess. And Draco feels _right_ in his arms, and he doesn’t want to let go.

Draco sniffs and asks, “You’ll pay, of course?”

A broad grin breaks out across Neville’s face. “Of course.”

Mirroring Neville’s blush, Draco adds quickly, “The agency wouldn’t like it.”

Neville shrugs. “Fuck the agency.”

Draco scowls again. “It’s not that simple. Without that I’d be homel—” He cuts off, beet red. But Neville already knows, and just nods.

“That’s okay. Look, if it doesn’t work out, for whatever reason, or you decide you don’t want to, I promise I’ll help you get another job. A different one, if you don’t want this—you shouldn’t do it because you feel trapped.” Draco opens his mouth, but Neville cuts him off, all the vindictiveness of earlier gone. “Forget about your past. I’m a very successful Auror, whether you can believe it or not, and I can get you in somewhere. Maybe not the ideal place, but somewhere.” And then Neville feels vaguely hypocritical, because he just paid for this and highly valued it.

Draco, for once, is kind enough not to point out the hypocrisy. Or maybe he’s just busy reeling over Neville’s offer. He looks mistrusting and overwhelmed.

So Neville tries, “At least stay the night?” He can repeat the rest tomorrow.

Draco nods slowly, before drawling, “...Do I have to keep the skirt on?”

Neville just shakes his head and laughs.


	2. Epilogue

Desk days are boring days, but at least it means Neville knows when he’s off for sure. He gets home around six thirty, and he lets himself into the apartment and kicks off his shoes. Then he marches down the hall, intending to head to his bedroom to change, but he pauses in front of the living room instead.

Draco’s sprawled out along the couch, on his stomach, with his feet in the air and a book in his hands, facing away from Neville. Which means his ass is facing Neville. He’s completely naked from head to foot, and then his legs cross and fold aside, giving Neville an even better view of that taut, round ass. Draco glances seductively over his shoulder, purring mockingly, “Have a good day at work, honey?”

It’s been about a week. Neville has made it perfectly clear that Draco can go home at anytime, and he already got his payment for the first night. And yet, Neville wakes up every morning with an armful of Slytherin, and Draco simply hasn’t shown any interest in leaving. Neville sort of feels like he’s picked up a stray dog, except it’s a fully functioning human being instead, with a beautiful body and a penchant for fucking. He’s as troublesome as a dog, though. Every time Neville goes to work, he fully expects to come home to an empty house. And every day he comes home to find Draco lounging around like he owns the place, helping himself to Neville’s bookshelf or fridge.

Neville’s obviously not about to kick him out, not with an ass like that and those gorgeous grey bedroom eyes. They’ve been getting along surprisingly well, too, or at least, when they do fight, it isn’t so bad. Both the angry and makeup sex is brilliant, and Neville’s been alright at standing his ground where it matters. Draco arches one blond eyebrow expectantly, and Neville coughs, muttering quickly, “Uh, average day. ...You?”

“Boring,” Draco pouts, before smirking a second later. “But that shouldn’t be a problem, now that you’re back... you will play with me, won’t you...?”

Throat dry, Neville nods. Then he shakes his head out, mumbling, “Er, just let me go change.” And he turns to continue towards the bedroom, before Draco sucks him in and he ruins another set of work robes.

Draco chirps, “I’ll help,” and Neville hears his footsteps trailing across the floor. Neville forces himself not to look back; he’s walked into one too many walls whilst staring at Draco.

Really, Neville doesn’t need help changing. But when he closes the door behind Draco, Draco automatically walks around him to tug the robes from his shoulders. Neville holds his arms up to help and then turns to pluck the fabric from Draco’s busy fingers. He opens the closet to hang them up, digging in his trousers for his wand so he can cast a quick cleaning spell. Draco takes the few steps over to the bed, climbing atop it and propping up on his side, so everything’s on display. Neville tries to keep focused on what he’s doing, but he’s sure he looks like a tomato.

When Neville closes the closet and turns around, Draco gestures forward with his finger, grinning naughtily. Trying to keep his voice steady, Neville asks, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Draco purrs.

Neville gulps and repeats more firmly, “No, I mean what are you trying to get? You’re obviously wanting something—you’re butt naked...”

Draco blinks. A frown suddenly falls over his face, then a pout. “And you just assume I have ulterior motives?”

Neville shrugs. He doesn’t want to offend Draco, naturally, which apparently he’s already done, but contrary to popular belief, he isn’t an idiot. “Well, you were in Slytherin.”

Draco rolls his eyes and scoffs, “For your information, I simply don’t have a thing to wear.” He runs his hand down his body as he says it, elegant fingers tracing his delicate skin, across his pale chest and over his jutting hips. He shifts his lower leg out, tilting his hips forward, and his cock is semi-hard along his thigh. It’s pink and soft-looking, with a pair of small, tight balls, and a smattering of blond hair at the base, trailing up a bit. When Neville finally manages to tear his eyes back up, Draco licks his lips and winks. “I’m getting sick of leather trousers and skirts. Don’t you think I’d look good in some nice, tight, figure-hugging jeans?”

Draco would look good in anything. Giving up, Neville walks over to the bed, and as soon as he’s close enough, Draco leans over and grabs his tie, tugging him forward and sitting up. Draco leans up for a kiss, and Neville’s hands automatically catch Draco’s hips. Draco’s arms wrap around Neville’s neck, and the kiss goes longer than Neville means it, deep enough to make him moan. Eventually Draco pulls away, turning his head aside when Neville tries to reconnect their lips.

Draco crawls around him and starts lightly shoving him up the bed. Neville shuffles back until he’s sitting between their pillows, back against the headboard. He gave up trying to be in charge all the time a few days in. Wherever Draco wants to herd him, Neville will go, because a happy Draco is an easy to deal with Draco, and maybe even a horny one. Neville _isn’t_ stupid; he still knows Draco wants something. But that’s no reason not to get laid out of it, and he smiles as Draco climbs back into his lap, rubbing his chest through his shirt and kissing him again.

Draco’s such a fantastic kisser. There’s a spark he always brings—something Neville’s never gotten from kissing anyone else. Draco’s a devil with his tongue, and his lips are so soft, so good, so _right_ against Neville’s. Draco’s fingers run down Neville’s stomach and start to unbuckle his belt. Neville’s instinct is to help, but he’s too busy feeling Draco up—running down the curve of his spine and squeezing his ass. Draco pulls out Neville’s cock and starts to stroke it, kissing his way up to Neville’s ear to whisper, “I have to talk to you.”

“I figured.” Neville’s consciously aware he needs to be wary, but his senses are too distracted to be very coherent. Draco pumps his cock at the perfect pace, holding it gently but squeezing just enough to keep it interesting. Draco uses his other hand to start undoing the buttons of Neville’s shirt.

Tone switching to light and airy, Draco drawls, “You should take me cloth shopping.” Neville scoffs; he knows it has to be something bigger than that for Draco to be putting on this much of a show. And Draco can go clothes shopping any time he likes, although Neville appreciates the invitation. Normally, he isn’t one for shopping, and he’ll really wear just about anything. But a chance to play dress up with Draco sounds more than appealing, and he nods. Smirking and nuzzling into Neville’s cheek, Draco undoes the last button and starts to play with Neville’s balls. Draco slips his hand into Neville’s open shirt, palming the bare expanse before him and rubbing over Neville’s nipples. As if as an afterthought, he adds, “Oh, and the agency owled today...”

Of course it did. That makes sense. Neville nods to show that he’s listening, but now Draco’s moving, and it’s hard to pay attention to anything else. Draco shifts his legs to either side of Neville’s lap, straddling him, pulling his cock up and hovering over it. Draco reaches underneath himself, and Neville wishes he had a better angle to see. He can tell from Draco’s expression that Draco’s stretching himself open. He must’ve prepared himself before Neville got home, but still, Neville’s surprised to find it just happening so quickly.

Draco hasn’t gone back to the agency. Or at least, if he has, it’s been while Neville’s at work. Neville’s hoping Draco will never go back, and from how surprisingly well things have been going, he doesn’t actually think that’s unreasonable. They have fun conversations, most days, and Draco seems to be enjoying both that and the sex as much as Neville is. Draco lowers himself onto Neville’s cock, and Neville holds tightly onto his hips to help.

Then Draco drops down, all at once, and lets out a hoarse cry at being impaled. Neville moans loudly; his whole cock slides right up inside Draco’s hot channel, already wet and just as tight as the first time Neville fucked him. Draco’s got an amazing ass, and he shifts around to get comfortable, face flushed and lashes half-lowered. He looks up at Neville with hazy, beautiful eyes, purring erotically, “Neville, I _love_ your cock.”

Neville throws his head back against the wall, groaning. Draco’s such a little minx. He’s manipulative as hell. Whatever he wants, Neville already knows he’ll get it. Whatever it is, it’ll be worth it.

Honestly, Neville wants to help Draco, and he’d help even if they were both fully clothed and talking over the dinner table. He actually likes talking to Draco and connecting emotionally, and he likes Draco for more than sex. ...But that doesn’t make the sex any less mind-blowing, and Draco picks himself up, only to slam his full weight back down a second later. Neville grunts, and Draco moans.

Neville looks back and tries to help, but Draco ends up doing most of the work. He starts up a quick pace, bouncing up and down on Neville’s cock with ease. Draco’s own hard dick slaps his stomach as he bounces, but he goes too far up and down too fast for Neville to properly touch him. And Neville doesn’t want to let go of Draco’s ass, which he’s now holding onto. He opens his mouth to ask what the agency wanted, but all that comes out is a feral growl.

Fortunately, Draco continues of his own accord. His breathing’s getting heavier, but he manages to drawl between gasps and moans, “I... ah... I lost my room with them...” Then he kisses Neville fiercely before Neville can say anything. Neville’s first thought is to pull away and ask about it, but he can’t with Draco’s tongue in his mouth and Draco still fucking himself on Neville’s cock. It’s too much pleasure, and he ends up just shoving his tongue down Draco’s throat, holding his lithe, naked body close.

When Draco ends the kiss to get more air, he continues in a quick, raunchy-sounding mess, “I haven’t been back, obviously, and I didn’t pay the rent on it this month, so they’ve kicked me out—” He cuts himself off and goes in for another deep kiss. Neville runs one hand up Draco’s spine, pressing him in between the shoulder blades and shifts the other down to slip between Draco’s crack, right down to where Neville’s cock is disappearing inside Draco. He rubs at the puckered ring around Draco’s hole, and Draco shudders in Neville’s arms, starting to sweat. The room already smells like sex. Draco nips at Neville’s bottom lip when he ends their kiss again, continuing, “I thought... I thought that maybe since we’ve been getting along so well and—ah, oh, _yes_ —I could just stay a little longer...”

Before Draco can press their lips back together, Neville grabs a chunk of his blond hair, tugging him away. Draco gasps and looks through his lashes at Neville, and Neville smacks his ass when he stops moving. Draco yelps and continues fucking himself on Neville’s cock. Neville surprises himself with how deep and heady his voice comes out. Before he can stop himself, Neville growls, “You didn’t have to be so coy about it—you know I’d let you stay for as long as you like, especially with an ass like that...”

“You can have my ass all you like,” Draco purrs. “Should we discuss rent?” He’s smirking a little, and his hips start to go even faster; wet slapping sounds are thick in the air. Neville’s chest constricts at the thought of Draco planning to stay long enough to pay rent. He doesn’t let go of Draco’s head, and he bends forward to bite at Draco’s pale throat, eliciting a fluttering moan. Draco’s hands run over Neville’s chest and claw at his shoulders, and Draco hisses, “Do you prefer cash or sex?”

Neville doesn’t need cash. He’s confident he can afford his loft even with Draco in it. But he doesn’t want to be _paid_ in sex, either, not with Draco, the way they’re becoming. It’s a hard thing to explain at a time like this, with his cock being squeezed so deliciously, but he tries to manage, “I want sex... but not like that...”

“You’re such a Gryffindor,” Draco chuckles. Then he lets out a particularly shrill cry of ecstasy, leaning across Neville’s chest and stopping his hips to grind down instead, rubbing into Neville’s stomach. As soon as Neville lets go of his hair, Draco presses his mouth back into Neville’s, battling with their tongues. Draco goes back to bouncing. He parts them and kisses another trail to Neville’s ear, whispering hotly, “You want to be my boyfriend, lover boy?”

Neville doesn’t know what he wants. He mostly just wants _Draco._ The thought of having Draco like that, all his and locked in his apartment, makes him hard as fuck. In a sudden surge of hunger, Neville grabs Draco’s ass and holds him in tight, lunging at him and knocking them both down. Draco lands in the mattress with a surprised squeak, legs darting to encircle Neville’s body, and Neville starts fucking him brutally into the mattress. Draco’s arms wrap around Neville’s shoulders, and Neville slips one hand between their bodies to grab Draco’s cock. Draco screams instantly, arching up into the touch. Neville’s on _fire_.

He’s pounding into Draco like an animal, but he still manages to hiss through grit teeth, “You’re such a Slytherin,” This time Neville bites Draco’s ear, and delights in the way Draco’s cock twitches in his hands. “I’m honoured you want to be _my_ Slytherin, but I don’t need to pay you to make you scream...”

If there were any indication that Draco didn’t like it, Neville would stop. But Draco just whimpers beautifully, heels digging into the small of Neville’s back and holding him in. Playing along, Draco moans, “I know you don’t—I just wanted sex...”

“Slut,” Neville chuckles.

“I get bored waiting around for you—I just daydream about you coming home and fucking me all day long—you work too much...”

“It’s so I can afford you—aren’t you wanting new clothes, now?”

“Do you think about me when you’re at work?”

“What?” It’s hard enough for Neville to listen, let alone understand, with him getting so close to the edge and Draco looking like that, talking like that...

“Do you think about me?” Draco gasps, throwing his head aside and closing his eyes at a particularly hard thrust.

Neville thinks about Draco all the time. He used to, every now and again, alone in his large bed at night, but now that he hasn’t had to sleep alone anymore, he thinks about Draco more than anything else. All he can manages is, “ _Yes._ ”

Then it’s all too much, and he comes like a hurricane, pleasure ripping all through his body and his mind going blank. He screams and kisses Draco hard enough to bruise, hips slamming down and grinding Draco into the bed, filling him up. He pumps Draco’s cock furiously while he finishes, until Draco’s own muffled screams break out. Draco comes in hot spurts between them, probably staining Neville’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. Even when he’s completely spent, he doesn’t stop kissing Draco.

Draco has to eventually shove him off, and then he rolls off, collapsing heavily in the bed and slipping out.

Draco rolls onto his shoulder, draping one hand across him, still naked from head to toe and slick with sweat. Now they’re both sticky with cum and breathing hard.

It takes Neville a second to mumble, “We should still have time to go shopping.”

Draco chuckles, and Neville can practically feel the smirk. He turns to peck Draco’s forehead. Draco sighs, “I’m hungry. I think you should buy me dinner first.”

Neville reaches down to slap Draco’s behind, which earns him a yelp. He tries his luck by saying, “If you’re going to live here rent-free, the least you can do is cook.”

“Not if you want that and sex,” Draco scoffs. “I’m not a cheap date.”

Neville wouldn’t have thought so for a second. He gives in and nods; he would’ve taken Draco out for dinner, anyway. He wants to take Draco out everywhere, show him off and joke around with him, catch up on everything and plan for the future. It’s silly, but he finds himself rolling onto his side before he can help it and enveloping Draco in a tight, warm hug.

Draco takes a second to return it. This is growing faster than Neville would’ve ever thought, and he finds he doesn’t want to let Draco go.

Draco grumbles into his shoulder, “We’ll need a shower first, though.”

Neville sighs, “You ruined my work shirt.”

Draco snorts, “That’s what spells are for. And anyway, I didn’t exactly force you.”

“Greeting me naked? It’s the same thing. How could I say no to that?”

“You couldn’t,” Draco preens. “I’m irresistible.”

Grinning broadly, Neville shifts to kiss him.


End file.
